And The Silence Said It All
by goodmorningvietnam666
Summary: Stiles sleepwalks, he's been doing it for a while; but it's not all bad.


He woke with a start, jolting with his arms flailing wildly and his feet scuffing against the forest underbrush beneath him. His eyes darted around fast and without rest as he took in the almost pitch black of his surroundings, long, thin and thick shadows which he recognised as trees looming around him like dark sentinels and a waning moon glowed faintly through the foliage, casting deep, long shadows that fed the imagination so it could supply the stuff of nightmares; werewolves and vampire and murders.

The worst part was the former and latter were real… he wasn't sure about vampires yet: but he wouldn't be surprised.

He let out a strangled cry of failure and gripped his slowly growing hair in his hands tightly, breathing heavily through his nose and pressing his forehead to his clothed knees tightly, letting his chest convulse fitfully with strangled sobs as warm tears tried to track their way from his tightly closed eyes.

How many more times could he do this? Waking up in places he barely recognised on cold nights only to sit and wait and _freeze_ until morning when he walk home shakily, open the door and meet the eyes of his father: who was under enough stress as it was, and be pulled into a tight embrace, being told that it was okay, that he was okay. How many times?

His bare toes curled in response to a gentle gust of cold wind hit his barely clothed body and his sobs turned to shivers and gentle whimpers as he curled in on himself and wrapped his arms around his chest tightly, trying to find the best way to keep warm against a hard tree that was frozen to the touch. It wasn't snowing, but the night air told him that it should have been, but what was new in Beacon Hills?

Oh wait, he knew, what was new in Beacon Hills was that the Sheriff's son was sleep walking and turning up in weird places: that was what was new.

He could hear footsteps, and at first his heart clenched for fear of monsters and murderers but no, wait, the monsters in the preserve were generally friendly when one monster in question was disregarded.

He shivered again, back and shoulders shaking violently in response as he huddled into himself further, flinching majorly when someone sat down next to him and wrapped a heavy material over his still shaking shoulders.

When he looked up, he recognised Derek Hale, and almost had to restart his thought process once it recognised the solemn werewolf who probably had had lessons in brooding sitting next to him calmly.

He didn't say anything, and Derek returned the favour, but he did pull the heavy leather jacket onto his arms and wrap it tightly around himself, shuffling over to accommodate for his company. He was halted by a firm hand gripping his wrist, anchoring him stubbornly. Stiles looked up at Derek and knew that he probably looked like a mess, but he tried for a scowl, which only withered at the sight of Derek's own, and then relented, shuffling forward and against him carefully.

They didn't speak: Stiles didn't have the energy and Derek wasn't exactly a conversationalist, they sat together on the underbrush of the forest, shoulders and hips touching gently as the night carried on, oblivious to the amount that Stiles was still shivering.

An arm, thick and strong from what was probably years of training, wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him closer, the owner of it still staring out into the forest. Stiles, emboldened by Derek's newfound affection, swung his legs, and his ice cold feet, over one of Derek's and pressed his feet into the other man's inner thigh, almost sighing at the immediate warmth.

Derek looked between anger and concern, but eventually he settled again and tightened his grip on the younger male significantly.

Another day or time, this may have been sexual, may have been an unspoken beginning to something, some agreement, between them; but tonight, after many months of hectic battles and losses and shocks, tonight it was just this.

Stiles was grateful for Derek's tact when he was asked no questions as he shivered on, silent tears tracking their way down his face insistently; eventually he gave in and rested his head on Derek's shoulder without a word or question and closed his eyes to the world, wishing that the warmth he was next to were his bed sheets and the cold was the gusts of wind entering through his slightly open window, but at the same time glad that the warmth was Derek, that he had someone to sit with who didn't ask questions, didn't look at him like he was about to fall over (because he had gotten enough sleep thank you very much Scott) and yet managed to know what he needed without a word.

Derek had changed since he'd known him, gone from the sullen, brooding werewolf that had entered their lives to a sort of guardian of idiotic teenagers and their testosterone filled actions. Stiles felt that he had probably changed, less… something… he'd certainly reserved himself to the fact that Lydia Martin didn't see anything in him and that he'd probably never leave the bench in lacrosse. He knew, however, that he and Derek had changed in respects to their relationship; he wasn't being slammed into walls or threatened or growled at (but sometimes he'd count the fond, exasperated tone Derek had when he said Stiles' name when he was talking too much) anymore and he felt that he and Derek had reached a sort of understanding between each other, not much unlike that that the pack had found with one another except, and he was partly sure it was one sided, there wasn't exactly as much flirting.

"I'm sorry" he whispered softly, afraid to break the warm silence that had spread between them.

He wanted to go on, but Derek half shrugged and brought around his other arm rest it on one of Stiles' forearms "Don't be stupid… I was out here anyway" his voice was quiet as well, but it had a deep rumbling sound to it that Stiles could practically hear in his throat.

He didn't open his eyes; instead kept them shut firmly, fearing that if he opened them he'd cry again "This needs to stop… I can't keep doing this and I don't know how to not do this… do you know how to not do this?"

He could feel the almost imperceptible shake of Derek's head "I think… I'm not sure Stiles… but I'll bet that it has something to do with-"

"With the shit storm we just went through?" Stiles finished, grinning when Derek growled low in his throat "I thought that too… sorry"

"It's alright… I think I liked it better when you were quiet" the older man answered, and Stiles imagined a smirk.

"Hilarious" Stiles retorted without vigour, shivering again 'It's freezing out here… why do you bother coming to get me every time I get out here?"

Derek was silent for a long time, and Stiles held his breath, waiting for a response; he half expected it to be 'because you're Scott's best friend' but he was allowed a little hope, wasn't he?

The arm around his shoulders tightened in a gentle squeeze "Because you're worth the effort"

Stiles grinned then and fell silent he really couldn't have asked for more.


End file.
